


Intertwined

by BnessZ



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto has a Thing for Akaashi's hands, Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Pure sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BnessZ/pseuds/BnessZ
Summary: Bokuto Koutarou can't stop looking at Akaashi Keiji's hands(Frankly, I don't blame him)





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo~
> 
> I wrote this mostly to get myself out of a writing slump, while sleep deprived, with no beta, so it's a bit... rough, but it accomplished what I needed it to, so I hope you'll forgive me. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the owls being disgustingly in love

Akaashi’s fingers tap, tap, tap against the paper.

He sits across from Koutarou, legs tucked under the table. Koutarou watches the drumming of Akaashi’s fingers, trails his eyes up to the other hand, held over lips, curled around a pencil as he leans over a textbook for answers. The steely blue eyes light up briefly, and then both hands are moving, one steadying the worksheet, the other writing on it. Koutarou watches every movement. Usually when Koutarou finds himself distracted by Akaashi (which, he admits, happens more often than not), it is his eyes, or his voice, or his face, or his muscles. But lately--

The hands still and a face full of thinning patience enters his view. “Bokuto-san, you haven’t answered a single question.” 

The pencil in Koutarou’s grasp falls onto the table as he shakes himself back to reality. A single eyebrow is raised at him, hands folding under Akaashi’s chin, bouncing his utensil slightly. “Is something the matter?” 

Recovering, Koutarou stretches a grin across his face, tries to ignore the burning red that is surely crawling up his neck. “No, no, I’m fine!”

Akaashi studies him for a moment, searching. Always searching for the things that Koutarou won’t say. Something flashes across his eyes but he’s sighing and looking back down before Koutarou can catch it. “If you say so.” 

(Later, reaching to check Koutarou’s math work, Akaashi’s fingers ghost over the back of his hand, and Koutarou’s breath stills.) 

*

Koutarou misses the spike. 

It isn’t the beginning of a slump, or one of very few missed tosses by Akaashi. It’s because he stops running halfway up, transfixed by the way Akaashi lines up under the volleyball, the way his fingers flex in anticipation, the way they roll back with the ball, moving under the weight, before releasing it back up into the air, springing it even higher than before, with little effort. It’s amazing, Koutarou thinks, how such slender, long fingers can be so strong and resilient, he doesn’t really get it. His own hands are big and strong, not meant for such delicate movements. He wonders--

“Bokuto!” The coach yells. “What are you spacing out for?” 

Cursing under his breath, Koutarou turns to the sidelines, bows low. “Sorry, sorry!!” When he straightens, he sees Shirofuku smirking at him, somehow always aware of his feelings for Akaashi, and the setter himself scrunching his eyebrows with a frown pulling at his lips. 

“One more, Akaashi!” Koutarou says. “I’ll make it count, I promise!” 

(This time, he watches the hands make the set, knowing and trusting where the ball will be even if he doesn’t see it, and it’s a perfect spike.)

*

The practice match against Nekoma ends in Fukurodani's victory. 

The team huddles, celebrates, sharing a big hug that Koutarou forced them into before running off to get water. It’s then that, despite the now empty bottle in his hand, the water dripping out the side of his lips, that Koutarou is  _ thirsty _ . Akaashi has a hand wrapped around a water bottle, drinking from it more impatient than usual. The other hand… Koutarou swallows hard. Akaashi’s jersey is pulled up on the side, exposing a hipbone that fingers curl into. In an attempt to save himself, Koutarou focuses his gaze back up, but it proves even more fatal. Akaashi is done drinking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, placing the bottle down, and then running fingers through those curls and--

“Bro, you are so done for.” 

Yelping, Koutarou jumps, dropping the bottle, and whips his head to the side. Kuroo is there, reaching to lean an elbow on Koutarou’s shoulder, smile as smug as ever. 

“Honestly, you’re so obvious.” 

Koutarou has no defense for that. He may be a little on the silly side, a little bit dumb in some ways, but even he knows his feelings, knows he is completely hopeless with no tact. 

Kuroo sighs. “What is it this time? His ass again? Or how his jersey is clinging to him ‘cause of the sweat? Or--” 

“His hands,” Koutarou says, his throat unbearably dry. 

Stepping back, Kuroo blinks at him. “What?” 

“His hands, Tetsurou,” he whines. “His fingers are so long and beautiful and skilled--”

“I wonder what other skills they may have.” 

“--and I bet they’re really soft and I just really want to hold his hand, bro.” 

(On their way home, they get ice cream, and melted bits of it slide down and over Akaashi’s fingers and Koutarou can’t look away.) 

*

Akaashi is fiddling with his fingers again. 

Koutarou cocks his head to the side like a confused dog, pinching his eyebrows together. Behind Akaashi is a smiling Konoha, having just pushed Akaashi this way. Sparing one more glance (Koutarou knows it’s a glare even if he can’t see it) over his shoulder, Akaashi pulls at a hangnail. 

“Akaashi?” 

The fingers still, his head turning ever so slowly in Koutarou’s direction, before they are twisting and turning into themselves again. It’s a long moment before Akaashi looks at him fully, eyes softer than usual, face tinted pink. “Bokuto-s--” Lips purse together and he looks away again. 

“Akaashi, what’s wrong?” 

“Bo--” A deep breath, and then the steely blue bores right into him, steadfast and determined to most. But Koutarou can see the flimsy edges, the anxiety brewing beneath, just as it always does, just as Akaashi always pushes it down. “Koutarou.” 

It’s barely a whisper but Koutarou’s skin tingles with warmth, heart hammering in his ears. He sucks in a breath and grins so wide, he fears his face might crack. “Ak-- Keiji?” 

“I-- You-- Since--” He stops, screws up his mouth, scrunches his nose. They are small indicators that he’s frustrated with himself, that his mind is working faster than he can speak. It’s endearing in a way that makes Koutarou’s chest tight. 

“What is it?” Koutarou keeps his voice low, gentle. A tone that he uses only for Akaashi. “You can tell me anything.” 

The lips part, close again, and then a sigh is passing through them, hands grabbing Koutarou’s and lacing their fingers together and Koutarou nearly dies right there. Akaashi’s fingers are rougher than he imagined, though he supposes e shouldn’t be surprised by the callouses given how much Akaashi practices. They fit between his fingers nicely, cool against his hot skin, longer and thinner than his own, tapping a rhythm into the back of his hands. 

“Koutarou, I like you.” 

And that’s the final blow. 

Koutarou actually sputters right in Akaashi’s face. “You-- I mean-- I-- What?”

Some of the tension leaves Akaashi’s shoulders and a huff of a laugh even escapes his lips. “I like you, Koutarou. I’d like to date you.” 

Koutarou feels his smile grow impossibly wider. “Are you for real?” 

“Yes,” A breath. 

“AKAASHI!” Koutarou surges forward, wraps the younger man into a tight hug. “Yes, please! Let’s go on dates and hold hands and call each other by first name and--” 

“Okay,” Akaashi says into Koutarou’s shoulder and Koutarou can hear the smile. When he pulls away, he sees it, blinding white teeth, eyes crinkled. A smile he has only seen two other times, and his stomach flips. 

(In front of Akaashi’s house, Koutarou has a hard time letting go of those fingers, only relenting when Akaashi pries them away and strokes his cheek with them before turning away.) 

*

Koutarou grabs Akaashi’s hands. 

“You’ve got to stop picking at them, my love.” 

A huff. “It’s not that easy, Kou.”

Koutarou only hums in response, lifting them to his mouth. He places featherlight kisses on each fingertip, and then the knuckles, the palms, and then his wrists, before sliding them onto his own cheek. “Guess I’ll just have to help.” 

Akaashi brushes a thumb over Koutarou’s cheekbone, slides a hand behind Koutarou’s neck grins. “Or you could just come here.” 

(Koutarou’s new favorite thing, he decides, is Akaashi’s fingers in his hair while Akaashi kisses him senseless.) 

**Author's Note:**

> ("Well, I'm older AND taller!"
> 
> "You are a year older and barely taller, Kou." 
> 
> "Yes, but--"
> 
> "My hands are still bigger than yours." 
> 
> "No, my palms--"
> 
> Akaashi presses their palms together, smirking as he presses his fingers down on Koutarou's. 
> 
> "See?"
> 
> "Mmm, fair point." Koutarou laces their fingers together before kissing Akaashi's face all over, making the younger man giggle. "And I love you and them just the same.")
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/starsoakedskin?s=09)


End file.
